


Wants and Needs

by Castielslostwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asexual Castiel (Supernatural), Bad Parent Chuck Shurley, Bad Parent John Winchester, Bad Parent Naomi, Biting, Blood Drinking, Demiromantic Dean Winchester, Demisexual Dean Winchester, Depressed Castiel (Supernatural), Destiel Port Facebook Group, Fluff, Hungry Castiel (Supernatural), Incubus Castiel (Supernatural), Intimacy, Lonely Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Scenting, Schmoop, Sexuality discussion, Suicidal Thoughts, Sweet Dean Winchester, Vampire Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 10:49:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21053153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castielslostwings/pseuds/Castielslostwings
Summary: From a prompt in the Destiel Port FB Group! "Asexual Incubus!Cas and Demisexual Vamp!Dean"Asexual!Incubus!Cas who has to have sex to feed to stay alive and has always resented it, until he meets Demi!vampire!Dean and discovers that being fed on... actually turns him on, and makes feeding not feel miserable for the first time ever. Imagine Ace!incubus!Cas starving for a long time because he can't stomach the thought of having sex, and then here comes Demi!vamp!Dean feeding on Cas, giving him gratification he thought can only be gained from having sex.And, you know, they live happily ever after.





	Wants and Needs

**Author's Note:**

> Cas is pretty lonely and depressed about his situation, and when he realizes what Dean is, his first thought is definitely not "maybe he'll be different." He has some dark ideas about potentially using Dean to end it all, but they are non-graphic, just a little sad. His depression and related self-destructive thoughts are also very much circumstantial, and those circumstances change. :)
> 
> FYI this is NOT an "Asexual Fix-It Fic," Castiel is NOT broken, he just needs to find someone to accept him for who he is!

Castiel is _ hungry. _ The kind of hunger that burrows deep into his bones, makes just existing in one place _ hurt. _ Everything about him feels empty, sharp and dull at the same time, and he’s getting weaker by the day. Even still, it’s not the hunger that bothers him so much as the knowledge of what comes next. What _ has _to come next, if Castiel wishes to stay alive much beyond the weekend. 

No one in the history of incubus kind has resented their biology the way Castiel does. He’s an embarrassment, a joke, not just the black sheep but a complete laughingstock among his entire extended family. His siblings think he’s a liar, his parents are sure he’s just being difficult to spite them, and legions of young cousins are put to bed at night with stories of warning inspired by his own miserable life. _ Don’t end up like Castiel, _ he’s sure his relatives caution their children. _ Fall in line. Embrace who and what you are, lest you end up an outcast, sad and alone. And hungry, always hungry. _

It’s not like it’s Castiel’s fault he “came off the assembly line with a crack in his chassis,” as his mother is so fond of saying. It’s not as if he _ asked _ to feel this way about the things he has to do to survive. It’s not as if he _ likes _being alone and lonely… and yes, extremely hungry.

_ It’s unfair, _ he thinks to himself sometimes. _ Humans who are disgusted by meat can satiate their hunger by other means. Vegetables. Grains. Or if they’re allergic, no one would dare suggest forcing them to suffer through consuming that particular food. Even if the allergen was the last edible item on earth, surely it would be understood if the person was still reluctant to partake? Even if that choice brought them close to the point of starvation. But what kind of choice is that? It’s just not fair. _

What kind of sad, broken Incubus has absolutely _ zero _interest in sex? 

What kind of pathetic, failure of a sex demon feels _ nauseous _when they try to feed? 

It’s not just unfair, really, it’s nonsensical. Whatever cosmic joke Castiel’s existence is turning out to be, he’s not any closer to “getting it”. Nor can he blame others of his kind for not understanding, or for thinking he’s lying or exaggerating or that he _ just hasn’t found the right prey yet. _ But the fact is, how he feels isn’t something external, and that’s even harder to explain. So mostly Castiel doesn’t bother, just smiles and nods whenever someone suggests that he just needs to _ get back out there and try again._ Ugh. 

Last month, at his brother Michael’s long-anticipated wedding, Castiel’s Aunt Amara had pulled him aside solely to tell him he was looking rough. “You reek of fear and self-loathing,” she’d observed bluntly.

“Thank you,” Castiel had replied stone-faced, quickly attempting to escape her presence but frustratingly held back by her hand grabbing onto his bicep. 

“You’re weak,” Amara continued critically, ignoring his eye roll while sizing him up from head to toe before releasing his arm. “You look exhausted, used up. You’re barely alive! Why do you do this to yourself, Castiel? I know my brother didn’t raise you to act like this. Is it that you think you’re better than us? Above your biology somehow?”

Sighing and closing his eyes, Castiel simply didn’t reply, instead waiting for his aunt to get bored and give up on harassing him. When he opened them again, though, she was still there, penetrating stare attempting to pierce right through him. Castiel raised his eyebrows and Amara scowled.

“You’re not worth the effort,” she scolded him derisively. “I’ll never understand what my brother sees in you, why he doesn’t just write you off.” As she stalked away, even Castiel had to admit that her point was fair. His father is and always has been _ relentless _ in his attempts to get Castiel to “ _ just be happy,” _ as he’s constantly saying. Despite that, he’s also perpetually unwilling to entertain the idea that sex might not actually be something that will ever _ do _that for his son. 

Ever since he can remember, Castiel’s always been his father’s favorite. Chuck had barely tried to conceal that fact when Castiel was growing up, even from his other children. But when Castiel became a teenager and started showing deviant tendencies, everything changed. His mother had the firm hand, brutal at times, punishing him severely and declaring that if he wouldn’t shape up and act right, she’d do what she felt was necessary to “course correct.” Unfortunately for Castiel, nothing she tried had worked, and that only made her double down. His father, on the other hand, preferred the more logical, sensitive approach, sitting Castiel down and reasoning with him, offering suggestions and options. Considering the content, more often than not those sessions with Chuck had either been mind-numbingly boring or horrifically embarrassing. Either way, what they definitely weren’t was helpful.

And it _ isn’t _ as if Castiel hasn’t tried to be normal _ . _ God knows it would be _ so _ much easier if he were. If he could _ just _ find someone or something that worked, that was tolerable, that at _ least _ didn’t make him feel wretched and sick during the feeding process. Castiel can’t help but wonder, why on earth does everyone think he _ enjoys _ being such a mess? He’s never, not even _ once _ in his life, eaten a meal that wasn’t one hundred percent necessary to keep him alive. And furthermore, he’s never enjoyed even _ one _ second of doing so. He’s sampled every flavor on the spectrum, too, so it’s definitely not that he hasn’t been _ open, _ that he hasn’t _ tried _ his goddamn best.

It’s just that, when it comes down to it, nothing Castiel’s tried and no one he’s tried it with has been able to counteract the sinking pit in his stomach he inevitably feels when he tries to have sex. Nothing and no one has allowed him to feed without triggering the pained sensation of _ wrong _ and _ I hate this _ and _ get away from me _ that perpetually and surely accompanies any of the varied attempts at intimacy Castiel seeks. Even just _ thinking _ about the act, _ any _sex act, turns his stomach and makes the idea of starving to death look more and more appealing. 

Which brings to _ here, _ today. Tucked away in the shadowy back corner of a dive bar down the street from his lonely little apartment, Castiel lurks. He supposes this behavior is the closest he ever really comes to acting like a real monster. At least he’s out here surveying his options and trying to isolate someone to pick off and prey on the way he was taught, consequences be damned. His mother might actually be proud. Not that Castiel has any intentions of purposefully _ hurting _anyone, or even going all the way if he can help it, but Lord knows he’s not going to enjoy what he has to do, so it’s hard not to feel a little bit guilty about that. He truly is an abomination to his kind. Lying and taking advantage of whatever human repulses him least is one thing, but being unable to even provide the pleasure he knows is usually mutually exchanged in these things… well. 

Castiel’s never claimed to be _ good _at being a monster, but on days like today, he feels like one. 

He blinks heavily and forces himself to return to the decision at hand. 

Tall women, short men, and vice versa. Blue eyes and blonde hair, dark brown skin and a shaved head. Rail-thin, chubby, muscular, curvaceous. Large biceps, perky breasts, thick thighs, kind smile, round ass. Quiet, talkative, bubbly, shy; too drunk, too loud, too soft, too hard. Everyone that passes through Castiel’s field of vision gets scrutinized and passed over, for one reason or another. He’s truly not trying to be overly picky, but there’s nothing about this process that Castiel finds easy. Physical attributes spark _ nothing _in Castiel’s gut, try as he might to even discern what features he might enjoy more than others. They’re all just bodies, meatsuits, nothing more. And Castiel wants no part of getting close to them, at least not physically. 

He’d be more than grateful to be able to make a friend, though. But after everything he’s been through in the past, Castiel knows better than to try that again.

Because it’s not as if his situation changes once he gets to know someone. Castiel _ did _ have a friend, once, a demon by the name of Meg. She was a good, loyal friend, and she respected his internal conflict, even if she never really understood it. Or at least, Castiel had thought so. They’d grown close, he and Meg, and Castiel would venture to say there was a time when he knew her better than anyone else in the world. Meg was attractive, too. Castiel could appreciate that objectively, even if he didn’t feel any type of way about it. Kissing Meg, even forcing himself to have sex with her, had been the _ least _awful experience Castiel ever achieved while trying to keep himself from starving to death. 

But in the end, it was still awful, still unpleasant, still an extremely difficult task to force himself to trudge his way through. And Meg had eventually gotten frustrated and left, taking her friendship, her companionship, her understanding and her _ body _with her. And that was the day Castiel started starving himself for real. 

Losing Meg _ hurt. _ Castiel thought she had at _ least _ come to terms with the fact that he _ would _ have loved her, would have _ wanted _ her if he was capable of it. And he _ did _ love her, _ did _ want her, just not in the way she apparently needed him to. _ Sex is important, _ Castiel knows this. It’s important to what feels like everyone in the world, except for him. And that’s perhaps the cruelest stroke of irony Castiel has ever come across. He’s long since given up on finding anyone who might understand how he feels, might want to accept him for who he is and not eternally hope and pray that he’ll someday wake up and fit into the mold of _ normal, _ of what _ they _want for themselves. 

He’s never going to be normal, and that’s just the way it is.

Draining the last of his beer, Castiel sighs and gives up on his hunt. It doesn’t matter _ who _ he picks tonight, so he might as well drop the pretense and just grab someone. They’ll make out in the back alleyway, Castiel will siphon some fumes into his spiritual tank, and he’ll live to be hungry another day. The quicker he gets this over with, the faster he can be back on his couch watching _ Top Chef _reruns. The irony of that scenario isn’t lost on him, but Castiel’s already feeling sick over what he’s about to do and can’t bring himself to be amused by it. 

There’s an attractive man hovering by the back door to the bar, red “EXIT” sign lit in neon above his head. He’s as good a mark as any. The man is scanning the crowd too, a far more predatory look on his face than Castiel thinks he’s ever been able to rustle up for himself in his entire life. This man is on the prowl, though, and that’s the important takeaway. Castiel watches for a moment, sees his green eyes follow another good-looking man as he walks by, notes how they dip to his backside when he passes. _ Alright, _ Castiel thinks, _ at least I’m not barking up the wrong tree. _

As he makes his way closer, still sticking to the edges of the room, Castiel tries to imagine himself pressed up against this man, tries to summon some form of arousal, a glimmer, anything at all. He’s unsuccessful, of course, despite the fact that the man _ is _ objectively pretty. He’s got sharp, clear emerald eyes that glint in the light, second-day stubble peppering his jaw, and sandy brown hair that’s artfully spiked on top of his head. His shoulders are broad and covered by a worn leather jacket, his waist is trim, and his legs bow slightly outward, which Castiel finds endearing. He can’t imagine why a man like this is sticking to the shadows. There’s no way someone like him has trouble picking up any type of person he might be interested in. Just that thought alone almost makes Castiel turn tail and run from the bar, back to the safety of his home. But he’s _ so _ hungry, _ so, so _very hungry, that even his ever-present fear and his persistent inferiority complex aren’t enough to make him bail, not tonight.

Still, this man might actually be out of his league, incubus charms aside. Castiel continues to watch him anyway, and it’s only when the man parts his lips slightly to slip his beer bottle in between them that Castiel figures it out. 

His teeth are sharp. Perfectly pointed canines that are unmistakable, even from the careful distance Castiel’s maintaining between them. _ A vampire. He’s a vampire, and he’s hunting. _The realization doesn’t scare Castiel as much as perhaps it should. He’s never met a vampire in person before, but he’s heard stories. Most monsters stick to socializing with their own kind, and it’s not as if he goes out all that often. Regardless, his mother did used to warn all her kids off of them specifically. “They’re only out for one thing, Castiel,” she’d say, which was, once again, ironic in a terribly unfunny way, considering. It’s not as if sex demons are typically pure or particularly trustworthy.

Still, from the little Castiel knows, a vampire isn’t much of a risk to an Incubus. Blood is blood, but Castiel’s survival is depending on sexual energy, not what flows through his veins. Even nearly drained, so long as he’s _ fed _ properly, a vampire shouldn’t be able to kill him, even accidentally. Curious, Castiel creeps a bit closer. He wonders, and it sends a fearful thrill through him, what a hungry vampire would do to a _ weak _ Incubus such as himself. It’s a terrible, terrifying thought, but Castiel is _ so _ tired, so sick of living this miserable life. _ Anything _seems better at this point than the endless, nauseating cycle he’s forced to endure of starving and touching against his will. Even intentionally putting himself in harm’s way, if that’s what it takes. Even purposefully sending himself into the Great Beyond, to see what the next life has in store for him. It can’t be worse than this lonely, shitty existence. 

Which is how Castiel finds himself (before he even realizes he’s made the decision to do so) walking straight up to the vampire and saying, “Hello.” 

“Uh, hi,” the vampire replies, looking surprised and a little confused at being approached. His green eyes dart around the bar quickly, like he’s not sure if this is a joke, or what. Castiel just stands there, hands at his sides, with what he hopes is a confident look on his face. He _ feels _ confident enough, anyway, which is a disarming feeling in and of itself. The last way Castiel would usually describe himself would be _ confident. _ The vampire raises his eyebrows. 

_Oops, _Castiel thinks as he realizes he’s just been standing there staring, ever since his opening greeting. “My apologies,” he says, fearless mask beginning to waver. “I’ve been told my ‘people skills’ are ‘rusty.’” His air quotes seem to amuse the vampire, who grins, and even Castiel has to admit, he has a _very _nice smile, fangs aside. Or, perhaps fangs included, who is he to judge?

“I… I thought you could bite me,” Castiel offers, as boldly as he feels he can, which as it turns out, is not very. 

The sunny, entertained look melts off of the vampire’s face, his grin disappearing and his eyes going dark. “Yea? What made you think that?” He snorts, his gaze drifting away to focus on something across the bar and not on Castiel at all anymore. “Kinda presumptuous of you, don’t you think? What makes you think I even _ want _to bite you?” 

“Oh, I--” Castiel stops short, only now realizing that his suggestion wasn’t just forward, it_ was _a bit arrogant. “I apologize,” he adds quickly. “I thought… well, isn’t that what your kind does?” 

The vampire’s gaze flicks back to Castiel’s face and he leans close. Without asking, he buries his nose into the side of Castiel’s neck and inhales deeply. It’s a clear invasion of his space and meant to be such, and Castiel stiffens, worried, his thoughts getting away from him. After all, this _ is _ a bar, and what he asked for certainly _ did _sound like a straight up proposition. The vampire probably thinks--

“And you’re a sex demon,” the man announces after pulling back, returning to leaning casually against the door frame with his arms crossed. “Shouldn’t _ you _be off f--”

“Yes, alright, that’s fair,” Castiel cuts him off, looking around nervously as if someone might overhear and want to take him up on what the vampire is suggesting, which is a less than sane thought. “You’re right, that was rather judgmental on my part.” 

“We’re not all just mindless bloodsuckers, you know,” the vampire adds defensively, eyes narrowed. “I mean, you could at _ least _offer to buy me a drink first, buddy. I ain’t a piece of meat.” Castiel can’t help but notice that the vampire looks uncomfortable as he speaks, tightening his arms across his chest and continuing to avoid eye contact. He also babbles, which isn’t inconvenient, since Castiel’s not entirely sure what to say back. He doesn’t know many monsters who like to get to know their prey, first. Well, he doesn’t actually know many monsters at all. Or anyone, really. “It’s just, I’m not big on biting people I don’t know,” the vampire continues. “Jesus, why am I telling you this?” He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “I’m just saying, man. I know you’re a sex demon and all, and maybe it don’t mean shit to you, but some of us aren’t casual biters.” 

“Oh,” Castiel says simply, brow furrowed. “I don’t... usually get turned down.”

The vampire snorts again and nods, still looking away. “Proposition people a lot?” It’s clearly not a question.

“No,” Castiel replies anyway. “As infrequently as I can get away with it.” 

That gets the man’s attention and his gaze returns to sizing Castiel up with interest. “Yea? Hmm.” He pushes up off of the wall and bumps Castiel’s shoulder as he passes by. “I’m Dean, by the way. So, are we gonna get that drink?” 

They do get a drink. And another. And another. Tucked back into that same booth in the corner, no one bothers or pays them any mind. They talk and drink until even Castiel’s demon tolerance is affected and he’s feeling somewhat relaxed for the first time in ages. To his surprise, conversation flows easily between him and his new acquaintance. Castiel is surprised to discover that Dean was actually serious about getting to know him, but he’s not disappointed in the least. The interest isn’t one-sided, either; for as much as Castiel shares about himself, he gets an equal number of tidbits back from Dean. He learns that Dean has very little family, really only a brother left, and that he’s never fit in well amongst his kind.

They have that in common, and Castiel says so. The revelation makes Dean’s expression fill with the kind of relief that can only come from connecting with someone who understands a thing you could never be able to explain with words. Castiel carefully changes the subject after that, the air between them too thick, too charged, too much for him to handle. But he doesn’t leave, and neither does Dean, and eventually, he finds the courage to open up some more.

Castiel tells Dean about his family, his parents, what growing up as an Incubus who has no interest in sex or any sex drive at all is like. In return, Dean talks about raising his brother, how hard it was to try and teach him to hunt, to bite strangers, when Dean himself never really understood sharing something so intimate with a person he didn’t even _ know. _

“My dad tortured me about it,” he admits, fiddling with the label on his beer. “He’d always tell me to be a man, to just get over it, that all vampires--especially Winchesters--wanted to bite anyone and anything we could get our hands on. I learned pretty damn quick to keep my feelings to myself, unless I wanted my ass handed to me. Least I could do was try and protect Sammy from the same thing, but, you know, he’s normal. He doesn’t really get it either, but at least he’s not a dick about it. Him and my dad never saw eye to eye ‘bout that stuff, anyway.” Dean shrugs and flushes a little, like he’s admitted to something embarrassing, and Castiel finds himself reaching across the table to take Dean’s hand in his own. 

“I understand,” he says gravely, maybe a touch too serious for the moment. And then he hiccups, and Dean laughs.

“You drunk, Cas?” Dean asks him, smile sharp but sweet, his canines catching the light. Castiel likes them. They don’t make Dean look as dangerous as they should, or perhaps that’s a function of him actually getting to know the man. 

“_No,_” Castiel replies emphatically but good-naturedly, his hand still wrapped around Dean’s. “I am… _ slightly _tipsy. Not nearly enough to impair decision-making.” He eyes Dean pointedly after that last statement, but Dean doesn’t withdraw from him this time. Instead, he considers Castiel thoughtfully, pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth and drawing it back out slowly. His fangs leave reddened marks on his skin that fade as Castiel watches. 

“I can’t turn you, you know,” he says, “If that’s what you’re after. Demon and all, doesn’t work that way.” 

Scrunching his face and tipping his head to the side, Castiel’s mouth drops open a little in confusion. “That hadn’t even crossed my mind. The truth is…” He pauses and then stops. While he and Dean have shared a lot about themselves, Castiel’s not quite sure he’s brave enough to admit what he really _ is _after from Dean. It would almost certainly take the option off the table. Although now that they’ve gotten to know each other better, Castiel’s not entirely sure he even wants the same thing anymore. 

Perhaps he and Dean could work out some sort of… agreement. There’s still no sexual urges to be found on Castiel’s part, but Dean is kind and at least somewhat understanding of what he deals with, and Castiel thinks he could make that work. He could maybe have sex with Dean if it meant staying alive, if it meant having more of these moments with him in the future. It’s not as if Dean is disgusting, or hard to look at, either. If only he could feel that _ spark, _ that urge to press their bodies together the way that he should. It’s _ frustrating, _ feeling so goddamn _ broken _ all the time. There’s nothing _ wrong _with Dean, so what exactly is Castiel’s problem?!

Some of what he’s feeling must read on his face, because Dean leans forward, concerned. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Cas.”

But Castiel just shakes his head and withdraws his hand. “You need to feed, Dean. You told me that’s why you came here tonight. And in truth, so do I. I’ve reached my limit for abstaining.” He knows it’s unfair to trick Dean into draining him, wonders if he should feel more guilty about never intending to even try to follow through and feed for himself. But the fact is, nothing has changed, just because he met a nice man. Dean is still more normal than he is, is still capable of feeling sexual attraction, he just has to make a connection with someone first. Eventually, even if it takes time, Dean _ will _get frustrated, he’ll leave Castiel when he realizes he’ll never return those particular affections. And Castiel doesn’t think he’ll survive that, not again. Best to just follow through with his initial plan, as unfair to his new friend as that might be. 

Castiel is so damn tired, of all of this. 

There’s no resistance, no protest from Dean this time when Castiel takes his hand and leads him out the back door of the bar, the one he was leaning against when they met. Outside, it’s dark, the alleyway feels damp, and the air is just on the uncomfortable side of chilly, fall really settling in around them. This is normally Castiel’s favorite time of year. By all rights, his days should be filled with cozy sweaters, hot mugs of tea, and fires in his fireplace, curled up beside it with a good book. But he’s been so weak lately, felt so increasingly ill, that all of those joys have been impossible to enjoy, to look forward to or even partake in at all. There’s so little in Castiel’s life that he even has left, and at the rate he’s (not) been feeding, it’s only going to get worse for him from here. 

_ It’s time, _he thinks resolutely. 

Castiel doesn’t even flinch when Dean presses him up against the cold brick exterior of the building. He controls his breathing, _ in for five, out for five, _so that Dean won’t suspect. But Dean’s smarter than that, or at least, his senses are keener. “You’re afraid,” Dean murmurs, and he’s close enough that his warm breath skates over Castiel’s lips. In response, his tongue darts out to wet them, and Dean tracks the motion. Likewise, Castiel doesn’t deny his fear, doesn’t think it’s necessary to. Anyone might be afraid in this scenario, Dean doesn’t have to know the real reason, unlikely that he’d think to guess it. “Don’t be,” he murmurs. “You’re stronger than me, I can’t hurt you.” 

_ I would be, _ Castiel thinks ruefully. _ If I were at full strength. _Clearly, he’s not the only one who doesn’t have enough monster friends to know very much about any species other than his own. Out loud he replies, more steadily than he feels, “I’m alright. I’m ready.” 

Tipping his head to the side, Castiel tries to show that he means his words but Dean doesn’t dip down to mouth at his neck just yet. Instead, he remains mere inches away and holds eye contact with Castiel in a way that’s more intense, more personal, than any sex Castiel’s ever had. “Can I…” Dean trails off, licking his own lips and adjusting his grip on Castiel’s hip. He clears his throat. “Is it okay if I kiss you first?” 

Usually, that would be a hard no, but Castiel _ likes _ Dean, and a kiss doesn’t sound unpleasant. Searching Dean’s eyes, he nods and Dean moves closer. Their lips barely touch at first, Dean careful to give Castiel plenty of space and warning to let him move away should he change his mind. But Dean’s lips against his own are not unenjoyable. They’re warm and his breath is nice, and it feels _ good _ to have someone in his arms, willing to show him affection but not push for more. By the time he feels Dean pulling away, Castiel’s actually disappointed, wishing the innocent press of lips could have gone on for longer. Dean is so… _ different, _cautious, respectful. It’s a shame Castiel would disappoint him in the long run, because this… he could get used to something like this. 

But past experiences once again rear their ugly heads in his mind, and Castiel can’t bring himself to back out, to put a stop to what he’s about to do. “Dean,” he says quietly, hesitantly. “I’ve… Well, I’ve enjoyed getting to know you.” 

Dean graces him with a wide, sunny smile, oblivious but genuine. “We’re just getting started, sweetheart. I think you and me are gonna be real good friends.” Forcing himself to nod, Castiel once again tips his head to the side in offering. This time, Dean accepts. 

Letting his eyes flutter closed as Dean noses at his pulse point, Castiel wraps one hand around Dean’s shoulder, the other resting at his waist, and waits. He wonders if his life will flash before his eyes, if it will hurt. He supposes the bite, at least, will be painful and finds himself bracing for the sting.

“Relax,” Dean murmurs in his ear. “I won’t hurt you. Hey, uh, I know that you feel things differently, but… some people say this feels good.” 

Castiel doubts that very much. 

He can feel as Dean’s mouth parts and then drags, hot breath warming his neck, the wetness of his lips as they close over unbroken skin. Castiel shudders a little as he feels the tips of Dean’s teeth scrape, teasing at what’s to come, and he tightens his grip on Dean’s shoulder. “Go on,” he whispers, eyelids squeezing tight against building tears. “I’m ready.” 

But he’s not, he’s not ready. Because nothing could have prepared Castiel for what it feels like when Dean’s teeth press down and pierce his skin. The initial pinch of the puncture wound is nothing compared to the heady spin that follows as Dean latches on, the blood beginning to flow freely from Castiel’s body into Dean’s mouth. 

And then... everything _ fucking explodes. _

Castiel gasps, his head lolling and thunking back against the brick, but he barely notices, totally overwhelmed by sensation. His body is on _ fire, _ tingling from head to toe, and it feels _ so fucking good. _Unable to form words, Castiel grabs onto Dean more tightly, wrapping arms around his shoulders and pulling him closer. Unaware of whatever epiphany Castiel’s having, Dean just continues to drink greedily, but he responds easily when Castiel grabs at him. Mind spinning, Castiel instinctively grapples to get as close to Dean as possible. Without breaking his latch on Castiel’s skin, Dean grabs him under his thighs, lifts him up against the wall and moans a little when Castiel’s legs wrap around his waist. 

“_Dean,” _ Castiel cries, winding fingers through Dean’s short hair and scraping nails across his scalp. He can tell that his eyes are glowing, the way they do when he feeds, but his thoughts are too addled to even attempt to make sense of what that might mean. It’s all Castiel can do to keep hold of Dean, to ride the wave of _ feeling _ and emotion, and how, for the first time in a _ very _ long time, he doesn’t feel _ hungry. _

Seconds, hours, minutes, _ days _ later, Dean sets him back down on the concrete and pulls back with a deliriously sated look on his face. His eyelids are heavy and his mouth hangs open, a rivulet of blood escaping out of one corner and trailing down towards his chin. As he blinks dazedly back at Castiel, a lazy smile spreads across his face and he _ laughs. _

“Damn, Cas,” he sighs. “_Whoa. _What a rush!” Dean might as well be talking about a rollercoaster he’d just ridden on, for all the gravity his words don’t convey about the situation, but he definitely seems pleased. 

For his part, it takes Castiel a few moments of being separated from Dean to take stock of everything that just happened before he’s prepared to reply at all. For starters, he’s _ alive. _ Not just alive, but _ full _ and satisfied. Did he just… feed? _ How would that even be possible? _ Castiel’s entirely sure he’s never heard of such a thing, but here they are.

In the end, there are lots of things Castiel _ could _say, a lot of thoughts that are still swirling around his head, but what ultimately comes out of his mouth is, “Was I… Was I adequate?”

“Stuff of legends,” Dean replies immediately, his face crinkling with laughter and then quickly falling when he realizes that Castiel is serious, that he isn’t sure. “Jesus Christ, Cas, who fucked you up?” He asks, pulling Castiel into his chest and holding him there without hesitation. “What about _ you?” _Dean continues, stroking his hair gently, and Castiel clings to him. “Was it… it wasn’t too much, was it?” Dean pushes Castiel back so they can look at each other, his hands wrapped firmly around each of Castiel’s biceps, grounding him. “Look, you don’t gotta pretend on my account. Even if…” Dean hedges. “Look, that was… out of this world, for me. But if it wasn’t for you, that’s cool. Doesn’t need to keep us from hanging out again, or whatever. You know, if you want…” Dean suddenly gets shy, stepping away and rubbing at the back of his neck. “So… you gonna say something?” 

Shaking his head slightly, Castiel starts to come back to himself. Thankfully, it’s before Dean gives up on waiting for him to say something half-intelligent. “It was incredible, Dean,” he finally manages, a smile matching Dean’s spreading across his own face. The implications of what all of this _ means _begin to sink in and Castiel’s long-standing feelings of hopelessness and lonely desperation begin to melt away. While they stand there, staring and grinning at each other like idiots, Castiel suddenly feels wet warmth running down the front of his chest. He touches fingers to his neck, and they come away bloody.

“Oops,” Dean says, a little guiltily, but he doesn’t look particularly sorry. 

“Indeed,” Castiel replies, rubbing his bloody index finger against his thumb. “Dean, would you… like to come back to my apartment and help me clean this up? It’s just around the corner.” 

Dean’s eyes narrow, and he looks at Castiel skeptically. “You’re not propositioning me, are you?” 

“I’m really not,” Castiel replies with a smile.

“Great,” Dean replies brightly. “Want a ride? My car’s parked around the corner.” 

Castiel nods and then stops Dean with a hand on his arm. “You’ve got…” He reaches out and thumbs away the blood on Dean’s chin. Dean surprises him by grabbing his hand away from his face and holding onto it. As they walk down the street, Castiel feels _ strong, _ healthy. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to _ not _ be barely alive and weaker than a newborn foal. And it’s all thanks to Dean. 

“So,” Castiel says, going for casual and missing by a mile. “Is there any chance you might want to do this again sometime?” 

That makes Dean throw his head back and laugh, loud and open. He looks down at Castiel with a huge grin splitting his face. “I mean, I figured when you asked me over that a repeat performance would be on the table at some point in the future, yea,” Dean replies. 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel apologizes. “I did warn you about my people skills.” 

“That’s okay,” Dean tells him, sounding happy. “I kinda like you the way you are. So… are you gonna tell me what really happened back there, or do I have to start guessing? You seem… different.” 

Castiel leans into him as they wander towards the car, pressing his nose into Dean’s shoulder for a brief moment. When he surfaces, he’s smiling. “I’m not,” he corrects Dean. “I’m exactly the same.” 

“You’re full,” Dean exclaims suddenly, stopping in his tracks to snap his fingers before leaning in to sniff Castiel behind the ear. “That’s what it is. I _ thought _I felt… something.” His expression turns smug, his tone self-satisfied. “Damn, I’m good,” he says, resuming their walk with Castiel’s hand still wrapped around his own. 

“Dean,” Castiel warns. “This doesn’t change anything… else.” 

“Course not,” Dean scoffs. “Why would it? I mean, unless you’re counting the fact that I’m _ so _delicious, I didn’t even have to get you naked to fill your tank.” He smirks and Castiel smacks his arm. 

“Don’t be crass.” 

“That was literally the opposite of crass, Cas. Aside from the blood drinking, what we did was basically Puritanical. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” 

“I liked it,” Castiel replies shyly.

Dean looks over at him for a long moment, and Castiel holds his breath. “Me too,” Dean says happily. 

“It’s okay if it’s not enough for you,” Castiel adds, despite his reluctance to ruin the moment. “If I’m not… That is to say, I understand if you’d rather find a partner who can give you more.

Dean’s brow furrows. “I don’t need more,” he says simply. 

“Well,” Castiel says with a roll of his eyes. “You say that now, but--”

“No, Cas, you’re not listening.” Dean steps in front of him, blocking his path. “I mean, first of all, that was fuckin’ _ wild. _ I know you were a little busy doing your own feeding thing so maybe you didn’t notice, but I’m _ plenty _satisfied. I’ve never…” Dean seems to struggle a little with what he wants to say, fist balling up at his side as he loses his words. Castiel gets his attention by wrapping the hand that Dean dropped carefully around his wrist.

“I believe you,” he tells him, and Dean looks relieved. “I trust that you know yourself best. If you say that I…” He falters but finds his confidence again when the corner of Dean’s mouth quirks up. “That... what I have to offer is enough, then I’m… grateful,” he finishes, somewhat weakly, and Dean steps to the side so they can start walking together again. 

“Good,” is all he says in reply. 

“Good,” Castiel echoes. “You could kiss me again, though. Maybe. Sometime. If you wanted to,” he adds hastily. 

“I could be into that,” Dean says with a squeeze of his hand. “Let’s, uh, get you cleaned up first. You’re bleeding all over your shirt.” 

“Oh,” Castiel says, embarrassed, pulling his collar up to press it against the still-oozing punctures on his neck.

“No blood on the leather,” Dean warns, presumably referring to the seats of his car, but when Castiel looks up in worry, he can see from Dean’s face that he’s joking. “No worries, Cas,” Dean says, dropping his hand in favor of slinging an arm around his shoulders. He pulls a bandana from his jacket pocket and presses it firmly against Castiel’s neck. “I’ll take care of you.” 

And somehow, Castiel believes him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Aine, who posted the original prompt, wrote this in a comment and it's SO TRUE ashaklfhdafdlj why did i not put it in the actual story?! Just headcanon that I did, ok?! lol
> 
> A vampire's venom can put their victims in a state of either euphoria or pain. But in order to do that, the vampire needs that sexual connection, fabricated or real, with the victim. A demisexual vampire cannot do that. So he's starving, just like how Cas is starving.


End file.
